


I'll be with you from dust till dawn

by NsuYeula



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Soulmates, post wandavision
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NsuYeula/pseuds/NsuYeula
Summary: Vision was a fragmented soul.Broken; IncompleteBut when she slept, the barrier between her soul and his slipped. Not much, but enough.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	I'll be with you from dust till dawn

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1gA47p0x5CpbZc1rAI3fcZ?si=fchir9Y1QOSAjSluNAGSLg

_But you’ll never be alone;_

_I’ll be with you from dusk till dawn_

Vision never truly considered himself a complete entity. From the moment of his conception and birth, he had been filled with so many parts that he did not understand.

_The Mind Stone; Ultron; Jarvis; Tony_

So many parts.  
Most of them gone now.

Some had been destroyed when Thanos ripped the mind stone from his skull. Others were now contained within the memory banks and central processing unit of his now revived body – wherever that was now.

However, a specific part of him… that part rested with his wife.

That fragment, containing her grief; her hope; her everlasting love. That was cradled within her very being. Within her heart.

She didn’t attempt to manifest this fragment into physical form again, not after the events of Westview. The price of such a feet was to great, and neither of them were willing to pay it. Not again. So this fragment of his soul rested comfortably with the Scarlet Witch, watching her life through a disconnect, a void.

Vision was a fragmented soul.  
Broken; Incomplete.

However, there were moment where he got to be almost whole again. When Wanda slept, the barrier that separated his soul from hers eased. Admittedly she did not sleep often. Since discovering the true nature of her powers, she used every moment – conscious or not – to study the true nature of chaos magic. How to bend it to her will. How to control it so it never overwhelmed her again. While she was unmatched in untalented, raw power, Agatha Harkness had proven that a well-studied magician was a formidable opponent.

But even a powerful creature such as her could not escape the lure of sleep forever. She was, ultimately, human. And when her consciousness finally slipped into the realm of dreams, the barrier between her soul and Vision’s slipped; Not much, but enough.

Her magic welcomes him openly. It encases him in a warm embrace, reaching inside him and touching his very core. Slowly, the magic twists, shifts, and curls until it has knitted together a projection of his once physical body at the foot of her bed. The sensation of suddenly having a form once more is extremely disconcerting, he realises. It is not like the form Wanda had created in Westview, solid and heavy, full of wires and bone. This one is incorporeal, laced with magic and power that is not his own.

He experiments by lifting his hand to his face. It takes a few seconds for the command in his mind to translate into an action, but soon the magic crackles gently and the projected form’s hand raises.

He practices a few more actions.  
A head tilt.  
Mouth open and shut.  
Arm outstretched.

Slowly, the magic relay between his consciousness becomes more solid, and his actions became more fluid. Soon, his actions are almost as instantaneous as the thoughts themselves. Content, he steps forward and settles himself at the end of her bed.

Wanda looks just as beautiful as she did when he had saw her last. Her face is no longer lined with the same levels of sadness and grief. There is a soft, composed peace to her expression, and only now as he looks at it does he realise how much he has missed it dearly. She lies with her arm tucked underneath her head; hair sprawled across the pillow in waves. Its deep auburn colour contrasts heavily against the deep blue sweater she’s wearing. It takes a few seconds for him to recognise it as the turtleneck he had worn when they had said goodbye. On him, it had been a slim, sleek fit, but it swamps her small frame. It easily covers her waist, her hips, and upper thighs.

He allows his gaze to trace her body, lingering on her exposed legs just a moment longer than necessary before it settles on the sheets of her bed. She always did have a habit of kicking the bedding off herself in her sleep, he thinks fondly. Carefully, so not to disturb her, he leans over, takes the bedding in his grasp and pulls it up over her, around her shoulders. As he tucks her in, her hand automatically tries to reach across the mattress to take his hand, just like she did when they were together.

But he is no longer there. Her fingers closes around empty air and her face scrunches with disappointment. Even in dreams, she reaches for him. And even in dreams, she is disappointed when she does not find him.

The sight hurts him. Almost more than he can bear.

He had never required sleep as a synthesoid, but some of his most cherished moments where when he had gotten to hold her as she did. The feel of her steady breathing tickling his skin as he spent hours running his hand across her body, committing each and ever part of her to memory.

In this moment, he desires nothing more than to reach out and take her hand in his, and yet it is the one thing he cannot do. There is no physical aspect to his being. He is simply a piece of consciousness, a immaterial with a voice, given presence and form through his lover’s magic as she slept.

The curtains of the cabin’s windows flutter as a breeze shivers through the open window. Streams of moonlight sweep the room, glittering off the metal band on Wanda’s outstretched hand.

Her wedding band. The last remnant of the Hex; of their life in Westview that she could not bring herself to let go.

His heart falls when he looks down and notices the lack of a ring upon his forms own finger. It makes logical sense, but it still hurts. His own ring has been dispersed with the rest of his body when Wanda had released Westview from her magic. But its absence still strikes a chord within him. He hadn’t paid it much mind during his time there. He hadn’t had to, it had been a simple fact of his life, and he had always been more preoccupied with the twins or the strange happenings of the town. But now it was gone. Yet another reminder of his incomplete nature.

The sound of sheets rustling bring him out of his thoughts. Wanda shifts restlessly, tears welling underneath her eyelids as soft whimpers escape her lips. He instinctively kneels down on the floor beside her and attempts to cup her face in his hands. He doesn’t need to feel her mind to know she’s having a nightmare. He’s seen her sleep often enough to know.

The magic that makes up his form begins to twitch and spark as Wanda grows more frantic, trying to push herself back into consciousness.

“It's okay,” he whispers, trying to run his thumb over his check in a comforting manner. But the magic up his thumb glitters and fades before he could touch her skin, as if he’s phasing through her.

The lack of a physical is beginning to frustrate him.

 _Work with me here,_ he thinks. Begs

The magic pulses, almost as if to say frustratedly, _yeah we’re trying_.

It takes a while, but slowly the magic holding his form together begins to shift in density. He can feel himself becoming more solid, more real. Had his body always been his heavy? It felt strange now. He is still not truly there, still a manifestation of Wanda’s magic, but at least he is at least tangible.

Thanking the magic, he tries reaching for Wanda’s face again. This time he is able to rest his palm against her cheek. He doubts that she can actually feel him, but it’s her magic doing this, and that must count for something. As he strokes his fingers across his wife’s cheek, her magic begins feeding the action into her subconsciousness. Slowly, her breathing begins to steady, and her expression relaxes. He feels her magic slowly settle as well, quiet dreams returning to her once more, and she is at peace.

Lifting himself up and off the floor, her chooses to settle himself on the mattress next to her. Leaning against the headboard, he carefully shifts her body so that she is snuggled against his side. Here, he can easily run his hand through her hair, a gesture that she had always found comforting.

He sits like that for hours, watching the stars through the window until they began to fade from view. And slowly, as Wanda begins to wake, his form begins to untangle and disperse, insubstantial as a dream.

No matter. Even if he has no tangible form anymore, he is by her side, always. He will ensure that she found at least a semblance of peace within her dreams.

He leans down and presses one last kiss against her forehead, just as the first flickers of dawns light creep up over the mountaintops. “We will say hello again soon,” he whispers. 

“I promised, didn’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> My first piece of writing in almost two years.  
> It's taken a lot for me to post this, especially right now.
> 
> Thank you AJLenoire for beta reading this for me and helping me find the confidence to post this. ILY
> 
> Twitter - @NsuYeula & @Knight_of_Yeula


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